


Salted Wounds

by Maitimiel



Category: TOLKIEN J. R. R. - Works & Related Fandoms, The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Blood and Injury, Frustrated as Fuck, M/M, Rape/Non-con Elements, Sauron in Númenor, Spit As Lube
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-17
Updated: 2016-04-17
Packaged: 2018-06-02 03:33:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,459
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6548914
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Maitimiel/pseuds/Maitimiel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sauron is working patiently to get what he wants from Numenor and it's rulers. Or maybe not so patiently. He decides to take some time away from the court and goes travelling, only to find someone really unexpected.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Salted Wounds

**Author's Note:**

  * For [LadyGaGalion](https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyGaGalion/gifts).



"What is that?" he asked, pointing to a house-like silhouette sitting lonely atop a mountain in the far west of the isle. It could only be seen from the top of the temple.

"It is nothing, my Lord" the servant holding the wine tray said with a shudder. "Only a rock formation."

Mairon's eyes could see darkened windows in said "rock formation", covered by twirling vines that spread from the cliff the house was propped against. 

"Does anybody ever goes there?" he said, leaning casually against the golden rails that surround the platform they were in, eying the thing with bored interest.

"It can't be reached, my Lord. The rock is too craggy to climb". The scrawny boy refilled Mairon's glass, with only the slightest shake of his hand betraying his discomfort. Whether such uneasiness was caused by the high height or by Mairon himself, he didn't know or cared.

Beckoning him closer, he whispered: "perhaps I should send you there to try, then." The servant shivered and said nothing. "I'm sure you would find it entertaining. Or I might." He smirked as the kid visibly shrunk.

"Ar-Mairon." A velvety voice spoke behind him. He turned around to see the tall and fair queen wrapped up in midnight robes. The serving boy stepped away discreetly. 

He raised his glass towards her in greeting. "Ar-Zimraphel, what a pleasure it is to see you." She incline her head elegantly and joined him by the rails, silently. Mairon gave her a few minutes, but she didn't seem willing to start a conversation. "Have you considered the offer I made you, My Lady?" he asked, and she closed her eyes briefly.

The queen took a glass of the bitter wine the servant carried before dismissing him back to the palace. He looked up at Mairon, and upon receiving a nod, rushed back down the stairs that surrounded the great dome, relief apparent is his face. 

"One of my aides used to tell me that it was the house of an elven lord of old." she said, looking at the distant cliff. 

Mairon laughed softly at her rebuttal, and indulged her like one would a child "And what would an elven lord be doing in a country of men?"

She seemed lost in her thoughts as she answered: "He came with Tar-Myniatur, for he didn't want to part from his friend, and then secluded himself with the grief the king's death caused him."

Mairon considered this. "He could just go away. Back to his family. Or to the undying lands." he reached for her chin and brought her face in his direction, forcing her to look upon him. 

She flinched, but didn't look away. There was still pride in her eyes. "It is just an old legend," she said evenly. "A cradle tale for those who dream of immortality." There was a veiled challenge in her words that annoyed and fascinated him at the same time.

He let go, a sneer bending his lips. "As you wish, My Queen. When you change your mind, you'll know where to find me". With that he turned to leave, leaving her alone with her resistance.

\-----

It was boredom, he would tell himself later, that had led him to that trip. Nothing but boredom and idleness. The court of Numenor was a snake pit, and with all the lies and distrust spread around it, manipulating king and noblemen alike was not even a challenge. Long ago he had managed much more difficult tasks, and he felt almost frustrated with how easy overpowering Ar-Pharazon had been. 

There was nothing is those people that interested him aside from the use he had of them, and more often than not he was restless for something better, bigger, something worthy of his talent and art. And he couldn't find it. He couldn't find it there.

So one morning he gave his orders and left the capital, riding towards the western shore and the craggy formations of rock that met the ocean there, not at all concerned about the king's obedience.

The road was wide and paved with regular stones as it ran away from Armenelos. It had been built long ago, to connect the king's city to Adunië, at a time when elves often came to the Island, and there was much traveling between one place and the other. There were many settlements along the way, but most were now mostly deserted, only inhabited by those who lived out of memories of the past or couldn't afford to move elsewhere. The capital was now the most populous place in Númenor.

Not many traveled now. The lords of Adunië preferred not to come, and few people in Armenelos possessed the courage to go openly to the haven city. Some fishermen carried their salted goods back to the capital, but even those were fewer than before: the sea hadn't given much fruit lately. The very waters seemed to rebel against what was being done in the land. But it was all in vain. There was nothing that would stop Mairon now to accomplish his wishes. What was an Island for all he had lost? 

Not once he looked over his shoulder. What did he have to fear? All the powers that could have matched his own had left this land behind.

As he traveled north and west from the city, the settlements got further and further away, and the road received less maintenance. Tar-Palantir, he had heard, had not had the funds to upkeep the less traveled paths in his kingdom. Clearly no Island could provide riches to satisfy its owner forever. The Valar had left the Numenoreans with no choice but to fight Middle Earth for resources. It was basic math. Not to notice the trap there were being put on was yet another sign of their idiocy. Who could possibly imagine otherwise? Who would believe the word of a Vala? 

It became harder and harder to move forward as the time went by. The road got covered with weed and at many points the pavement was cracked, fallen twigs cast carelessly to the sides. 

The tall precipice, however, was not beside the city of the faithful. While the road went straight west since Ondosto, the way to that cliff was southwest of the road, until the last mountain of that chain. About fifty miles before Adunië, Mairon left the road behind him.

The woods were rough and no trails seemed to exist to help him trough. The horse walked slowly, but he didn't mind. He could smell the salt of the ocean that lied in front of him. The trees were tall and old, covered with lichen. There were not many animals around, but he could hear seagulls in the distance and insects busted all over. 

He felt almost peaceful. 

He traveled with the mountains to his right, coming closer to them at every mile, without rushing. He didn't believe anybody lived on the construction he had seen from the temple. It was far to decrepit to house anyone. Likely it was some ancient hut or something, maybe built by one of those people who watched so greedily to whatever came from the west. 

\-----

It took him nearly as many days to reach the cliff after he left the road as it took him to get to that point. When he arrived at the foot of the mountain, he found he couldn't see the top of it, nor the old house. He could only see rock all around. The rock rose abruptly, and there was no apparent way up. 

Unfussed, he rode on, going around the mountain, until he could hear waves. He couldn't yet see it, but the domains of Ulmo were very close. The gulls cried high above, calling him up, and with a deep breath, he answered.

\-----

He assumed his old form again upon landing on the top of the cliff, after flying for a while among the other birds. It was so freeing, he thought, to just let go of every petty concern and burden he had to deal with for the last several centuries. To forget for some time of the hopelessness of it all and just feel the wind on his feathers! 

He didn't carry much with him before shifting and setting flight. Only a light leather sack filled with some spare clothes and a jar of wine, wich he threw over his shoulder before starting to walk the last steps toward the abandoned house. 

The house, he could see now that he was closer, was made mostly of irregular stones and wood, but it was relatively tall, and it's walls were very regular considering how old it was. Most of the material seemed to have come from the mountain itself, but some of the wood must have been brought from some place else. There was little vegetation this high up, and it mostly consisted of shrubs and twisted, weak little trees. there was no space on the rock for the kind of tree that had been used on the house structure. 

The wind blew in his direction, and the scent that came with it surprised his nostrils. It smelled like mold and a general oldness, but also of fish that hadn't climbed here on its own and recently burned wood. If he could trust his sense of smell at all, somebody did live here. He looked around. He still couldn't tell how did one came up here without wings, but it was obviously possible. He could hear nothing from inside the house, though.

The door wasn't closed. It didn't seem like it could close properly, being swollen by humidity and stuck. It was dark inside, but Mairon could discern a table and a cot. He hesitated a moment without turning in. Could this really be an elven Lord of older times? He made a quick headcount of who might have survived the war of wrath and didn't come up with many names. Then he walked inside. 

There was nobody there.

The walls were made of a mixture of wood and mud, and could be on the verge of falling apart by the looks of it. Smoke had blackened them, but the fire was out. "The fire" was but a circle of rocks in the middle of the room, and but the ashes, it was empty. 

there was some wood in the corner, mostly broken pieces of trees gathered, rather than cut. the cot had a grayish blanket atop of it, and the mattress was worn so thin it could not possibly bring it's occupant any comfort. The table was bare, and there were no chairs.

Mairon walked towards the window he had seen from the temple top. No human eyes could have seen it. As he had suspected, the weed around it blocked it of being open. how long had it taken, he mused, for that to happen, and why hadn't its occupant cleared it away?

In fact, if the smell wasn't so fresh, Mairon might not have guessed this place was occupied at all. The scent wasn't entirely unfamiliar, but he couldn't place it. Whoever lived here was barely surviving. Like a worm buried and forgotten. 

He traced the walls with his fingers, absently, watching the soot stain them black. Black as his master's hands had turned after he touched that which he had no right to claim. But even the halls of Utunmo were never this dark. They had lightened it with great lamps and let the fire warm them. There had been life, then, if not the life the Valar had wanted them to live. 

They had tried to achieve greatness in Arda and found punishment. But those who had kneeled and begged had been rewarded. Those who accepted servitude and mediocrity had been deemed greater than the ones who strived to make the world perfect! Slaves, they all were. Serving was their only use, and all they deserved!

A subtle change in the air alerted Mairon that he was not alone. He could hear the soft breathing of a man approaching the hut, almost unperceivable amidst the crash of the waves bellow and the murmuring of the wind. He found himself expectant, something akin to curiosity regarding his host's identity. He might have walked out to get an earlier glimpse of him, if his mind didn't call him on the ridicule of it all. He turned to the door and waited. 

It was an elf who walked in, carrying a string of fish over his shoulders, curved under its weight. he wore no shoes and his clothes were covered in gashes. Mairon couldn't have told what color they originally were. He was still damp, his hair sticking to his face and back. The long black tresses reached to his mid thighs, but were tangled and unkept. He was whispering softly to himself, but it if contained words, they were not in any language Mairon had ever heard. But he had seen him before. 

It had been a glimpse, barely a sigh at all, before his brother interposed between them and charged his forces against Mairon's own. He remembered the anger in his eyes, tempered with a bit of fear. They didn't cross paths again after that, and yet he could remember the fire. They had all had fire in their eyes, the sons of Feanor.

The song stopped in Maglor's lips when he saw Mairon there. Mairon couldn't tell if he had been recognized as well. His face wasn't the same, it was never the same, cause that face didn't belong to him anymore. His clothes were Numenorean, soft silk, opulent brocade and elegant boots. Yet he thought maybe Maglor knew who he was, on an instinctive level, cause his eyes shone with recognition.

There was no movement from any of them as they stared at each other. Maglor's eyes held weariness, but he didn't flinch or retracted from Mairon. His skin was thin and pale, like he didn't leave the darkness often. Mairon could see his bones poking at it, and lines marked the elf's face. He had scars visible where his arms weren't covered, white and faded. His teeth looked sharp behind his half open lips. 

But his eyes still burned, dark and deep eyes that caught Marion’s own with a strength his body lacked, and Mairon almost felt trapped. They were filled with shadow, a window to the everlasting void.

He didn't know for how long they looked at each other. For the first time in many long years, Mairon wondered what his eyes showed. It was the elf who recovered first. Or maybe he didn't care any longer.

Maglor blinked and then closed his eyes for a few moments, before pulling the string of fish from his shoulders and hanging them on a hook by the door. As if in a haze, he turned his eyes away and moved to bring some pieces of wood from the corner, placing them in the circle of stones. He started fumbling with the fire, not bothering to address Mairon at all.

Something that had been filling with more and more expectation since he had recognized the elf seemed to deflate, and anger took its place. Here was someone who knew, truly _knew_ who the Maia was. Someone who remembered, who had seen first hand the results left by Mairon's hand, who should have more reason than anybody else in whatever was left of their world to hate him, to _fear_ him, and Maglor had the gall to _look away_?

He didn't want to look the disappointment he was building up in the face, and so he did the only other thing he could. He confronted. 

Stepping closer without thinking, he grabbed Maglor by the shoulders, pulling him up and pushing him against the nearest wall. Maglor eyes went back to his own, but he didn't seem any more impressed than before. He wasn't afraid. He was only resigned. It was infuriating. 

Mairon pined Maglor against the dark walls of his own house, and Maglor stared into his eyes. "Why are you here?" he whispered, blinking. "What do you want?"

Mairon didn't want anything of him. The only things Mairon wanted were far beyond what anybody could give him. He wanted back the promises he was made, so long ago, of glory, of love, of freedom. He wanted those things all of the time, but he wouldn't, of course, say that to Maglor. The elf smelled of salt and fish and smoke, but underneath it all, he stank of past. 

The elf opened his eyes and the darkness in them reminded Mairon of something long lost. Maglor touched his own throat and spoke hoarsely:

"Then leave." He was determinate and sorrowful. "I have nothing to give you."

His voice had changed, Mairon though. The strings that screamed battle cries once were now rough and tired. They scratched at the elf’s throat with reluctance, but still held power. He wanted to strangle it. To crush it with his hands. How does one crush another's voice?

The elf's hair was tangled around his neck, stuck on his shirt. It was a Númenórean piece. Númenórean, Mairon repeated to himself, though it evoked Valinorean silks in his mind. Silks that had been much simpler. 

"Why are you here?" Mairon spit Maglor's words back at him, cause he had nothing else to ask, and he didn't want to leave. It was overwhelming. He didn't _have_ to leave. None could force him. None could dominate him now, nor Vala nor spirit, he _would not_ bend. 

Maglor gave the driest of laughter, pushing himself away from the dirty wall. "To wait," he said, resolutely "until it's time."

"Do you still believe there is anything to wait for?" Mairon couldn't. "Do you believe the Valar shall still grant you something? You are a fool."

Maglor flinched but didn't back off. "Someday, He who created us shall show his true purpose."

Mairon laughed now, though it didn't reach his eyes. "So said the Valar! So said Aule, but did he knew? Did he see?" Mairon had asked once, when he was young enough to believe. Aule commanded all to keep on working and leave such matters alone. The One would eventually show them all. But whatever truth might have existed, it was kept hidden. Nothing ever came of waiting. "If there was a purpose, it would be known by now."

"What are you living for, then?" Maglor's voice pierced through him like a spear. 

"I need no reason" - Mairon growled, taken aback. _you have none _a voice whispered in his head. _you have nothing___

"You used to have one, though" - Maglor stood upright - "My brother told me you had a motive for everything you did." 

"And how well did this knowledge serve your brother!" - Mairon mocked dryly. Maedhros had believed himself so wise. Mairon had educated him. "Didn't keep him from surrendering himself to the flames, did it?" 

Maglor closed his fists. "He was no coward."

"He was too weak to live with his shame." Mairon snorted. "Is as good a reason as any, I suppose. 

Maglor was growing angry, the Maia noticed. Good. He didn't have to be the only one frustrated.

"He fought till the end" - Maglor said, trembling a little. "He was _no coward_ ". 

"And yet" - Marion made a gesture encompassing their surroundings - "we're here. The ending never came, did it?" Maglor became still as Mairon began to pace. "You call it 'the end', but only because you lived to name it so. Sweet Maitimo knew it was no ending - only his own ending. His own defeat."

Maglor didn't answer right away. Perhaps he was making his reply into song, Mairon mused with bitter humor.

But the bard didn't sing. His voice was strained and bursting with emotion, a challenge burning in his eyes. "You seem to have forgotten" he spelled every word clearly as crystal "Your Master too found defeat around the same time."

Mairon stopped walking, frozen in place. _How DARE him_ speak...? Speak of _him_? The old grief came back in a cold rush of regret and sorrow and anger. This little _shitty elf_ dared awaken...

"Have you lost your voice?" Maglor's voice intruded is his thoughts. "Or are you too much of a coward to face your own past?"

"Shut up." The Maia said, curtly.

"So this is how the powerful Sauron loses his..."

"SHUT UP!" - Mairon charged at him and closed his hand around Maglor's throat - "You know nothing of what you speak." his voice rang velvety and dangerous on the elf’s face "You wouldn't have the depth of mind to understand it, shallow creature that you are. And do not" he brought his face closer to Maglor's pale skin "call me by that name."

His eyes never left that of the elf’s and he watched with satisfaction as the famous singer of the Noldor struggled for breath, his mouth open and his nostrils flaring. When it seemed Maglor might black out, Mairon let him go, and the elf promptly collapsed against the wall, bracing himself and drawing short breaths. 

"Not so witty anymore, are we?" Mairon sneered, bowing slightly to reach Maglor's chin and pull his face up, forcing him to look into his eyes. "Have you learned your due place, elf?"

"Fuck you," Maglor said weakly, still fighting to breathe. "You're nothing but a shadow of a ruined man."

Mairon's anger was still boiling as he pressed the elf against the wall, baring his teeth. He could feel Maglor's heart pounding in his ribcage, his blood rushing trough his veins. His blush contrasted strongly with the paleness of his skin. "This is my last warning" he spoke into the other's ear. "If you don't shut it..."

Maglor didn't pull away. "You'll do what?" he asked recklessly, pushing Mairon's hand away from his face. "What could you possibly do I haven't faced before?"

Before he could think, he flung his body fully against the elf's, knocking Maglor's head on the dirty wall, crashing their lips together. 

He didn't want to hear any more. He didn't want to have it dragged out in the open. He only wanted to crush and silence the elf’s comments, to drown the memories it evoked, spend his anger on someone other than himself. It wasn't so much a kiss as a bite, and he could taste the irony sting of blood mixed in the salt and the musky sweat from his skin.

Maglor was struck dumb for a moment, before he started to push and shove Mairon away from him. It was useless. Mairon was of the Ainur. No child of Iluvatar could parallel his strength.

The Maia might have found it funny if he could bring himself to care. All he could register was the heat and the anger. Maglor's flesh was yielding and soft, unresisting as he ran his hands over the elf’s hips, kneading hard. He could feel each bone as it poked inside his thin body. It felt like biting a ripe peach, juices and sweetness drowning his palate. He couldn't have stopped if he wanted. 

Maglor thrashed and resisted, but he didn't beg. Much later, Mairon would think upon it. The brothers had that in common. Mairon held his wrists with strength enough to fracture and Maglor grunted, but Mairon paid him no heed.

He focused instead on the elf's tangled hair. He held Maglor's arms above his head, the smell of smoke as strong as the smell of sweat to his senses. Maglor was panting against Mairon as the Maia wrecked the elf’s neck and shoulder with his teeth. Red suited his complexion well, really.

Maglor bit his lips, holding all the sound he could inside, and Mairon shook him, bashing his head against the wall again. He pushed his entire body against the elf's, not caring, not thinking, feeling nothing but the touch of flesh against flesh, and pushed a leg between Maglor's tights.

Maglor's clothes were still damp and cold, a striking contrast to Mairon's feverish heat. Mairon's right hand slipped underneath the elf's old tunic, gripping his hipbone and holding him in place while the left fumbled with the elf's breeches. Maglor's fists started punching the Maia's chest and shoulders as soon as they were released. Mairon bared his teeth and bit more deeply at Maglor's jaw, making the elf cry out. In a last desperate resource, Maglor's hands tangled themselves in the Maia's hair and pulled.

The fighting made it too troublesome for the Maia to properly remove the elf's clothes. With one hand he still held him, with the other he ripped Maglor's pants to shreds. The fabric gave away more easily than he had expected, but then, it might be centuries old. The sewing tore at the waist and sides, and fell down, pooling around Maglor's ankles.

The sound of fabric being shredded seemed to echo on the dark shed, and Mairon heard Maglor gulping. The elf was suddenly limp, his resistance dropping with the remains of his pants. Mairon took the opportunity to turn him around, his hands moving up and down the elf’s body, feeling his cold skin get warmer with touch, the stickiness of salt water still clinging to it. Mairon slid his hands to the front of the elf’s body, underneath his old tunic, and pinched his nipples hard, while tasting the blood that was dripping down his jaw and licking his face, leaving a red trail on it. Maglor shuddered violently but didn't try to pull away. his forehead was pressing on the wall, his arms clinging desperately to his tunic. The brocade in Mairon's breeches bruised Maglor's naked buttocks. the elf breathed harshly.

He pulled his body back to unlace his own, much more elaborate clothing, pulling them down mid tight. He was not fully hard yet, the trembling flesh under his mouth not quite the proper taste. He tried to hold on to memory, to how it had felt before, with somebody else. Mairon inhaled the smell of the elf's hair, and it was wrong, but the color was close enough.

Maglor closed his eyes when he reached for his entrance, roughly, with a pair of fingers wet with saliva. As he worked his fingers inside, the elf's flesh tight and hot around him, he leaned in to kiss him softly, like he would have done in another life. He could taste tears now among the blood and salt. His spare hand held on to the elf's hair, tangled and dark, as he pushed his fingers up to the knuckle into Maglor's asshole, before pulling out and back in quickly.

Maglor squirmed around him, not quite trying to escape, but incapable of staying still with the pain inside him. Mairon grabbed the elf's manhood and squeezed it in his palm. He felt it harden and laughed softly, causing a shiver down the elf's neck. Deeming that was preparation enough, he positioned himself behind Maglor's opening and pushed inside.

Maglor gasped out loud, still refusing to say anything. His entrance was so tight it was painful to breach. Mairon pushed all the way in, steadily, before pulling almost entirely out and setting a hard and punishing rhythm, his face buried in the dark tresses in front of him, his own hair falling out of shape and hiding his face. Maglor still held what was left of his clothes tightly to himself, and Mairon found it mildly amusing. Very deliberately he grasped the collar of the tunic, and slowly tore at it, feeling Maglor's heartbeat get even louder as the sound reached his ears. The Maia pushed deeper, enjoying the burning sensation of the elf stretching around him.

When he angled himself to reach that point inside Maglor that would make his body betray him the elf groaned, biting his lips until they bled. 

“You like this, don't you?” he asked in mockery at the elf's ear, his tongue flicking around the lobe. “You like this just as much as your sweet brother.”

At that Maglor reacted, though, pulling his face away from Mairon's lips and growling. Mairon held his hips with bruising force to keep him from getting away. The elf fought and bucked, impaling himself deeper in Mairon's cock. His breath came in angry pants, making the Maia burn. This. This was what he wanted. Anger. Violence. Escape. 

“Leave. Him. Out.” Maglor hissed, fists letting go of his tunic to hit the wall. Mairon laughed. 

“How unfair. He wouldn't have wanted to be left out by his baby brother, would he?” He raised a hand to caress the other's hair, exposing the nape of his neck and tasting the musky sweat that covered it. 

“You don't know shit about my brother!” The elf shook violently, pushing himself away from the wall and causing Mairon to let go of him to maintain his balance. They were a few steps away now. Mairon wondered if he would try to run. He felt wild and free like he hadn't for too long.

“I know more than you can even guess” He smirked crazily at him. “Or perhaps he has shared the same with you?”

“Lies!” Maglor yelled, advancing with fists up. Rather adorable, really. “You taint everything you touch!”

Mairon let the elf hit him with his pale fists, let his wet hair sprinkle him with droplets of water, let him scream, before grasping him by the forearms and digging so hard his nails were bloodied. His word rang into the Maia's ears, but he didn't want to hear. he focussed his eyes in the pearls of sweat forming in the elf's temple, in the veins protruding in his neck, in the taste of metal still in his own tongue. He wanted nothing more than to be swallowed by anger and madness and feeling, but his memory was pounding in his eyes. he pulled Maglor's arms close, and shook his entire body, before, turning him around and pushing him against the sharp wooden table. 

"Your brother was a filthy whore" he spoke into Maglor's ears "and you are no different." he pushed again inside Maglor's entrance, his own body shivering as it was engulfed in velvety heat. "Even now you enjoy this." he ran his fingers over leaking tip of Maglor's erection to prove his point. "You don't want me to stop." He pounded as hard as he could, keeping Maglor in place with the sheer force of it. The elf's pale skin almost gleaned in the dark of the shed, and he pushed and pushed and pushed. Mairon was holding Maglor's wrists with one of his hands, firmly pinning him on the table. the other hand pulled his hair, nailed his arms, held his neck. Maglor couldn't avoid groaning now, though he was biting his lips and his face was pressed to the wood. 

Mairon's movements became erratic and his vision was a blur of black curls and pale skin. He didn't bother with Maglor's erection, but after some time the elf spilled himself on the floor underneath the table. The sight of it, the thought he could do so much against one's will made him throb and shudder, and with a loud groan he stained Maglor's skin with his seed. 

The two of them remained unmoving in the same position for a while, Mairon's breathing coming slowly back to normal. Beneath him, Maglor had stopped trembling and made no sound.

He pulled out with a wet sound, finally letting go of the elf's arms. Maglor slipped to the ground, making no attempt to hold himself upright. the remnants of his clothing barely covered him now, but he didn't try to cover himself. Sitting on the floor, he made a horribly pitiful image. Mairon turned away.

A feeling of deep disappointment that had been so far ignored was once again settling in his gut. A man crying naked on the floor - how he resembled that himself, in his mind at least. It was disgusting. It was pathetic. The aftertaste of his physical release was of blood and ash in his mouth, and he couldn't spit it out. 

Looking again at the ruin he left of the elf, he grabbed his leather bag from where it had dropped before, and pulled some spare clothing out of it. He left it on the table, where Maglor's wrists had been before. The elf made no movement. Mairon turned away and walked out into the sunny rock.

This was taking too long. Whatever it was Ar-Pharazon was delaying him for, it would have to move faster. He couldn't wait anymore. He wanted actions and answers, _now_. The stupid island would make him insane.


End file.
